Shunt

by Tom Rubython

  The rest of Formula One was glad to see the back of Lord Hesketh. They had never forgotten the V-sign he had delivered them in Zandvoort.

  Max Mosley wasn’t among those relieved to see him go, but nor was he surprised when Lord Hesketh called a halt: “I think he had this image of being a gentleman racer, and well, of course, you just couldn’t do that. Hesketh ran things in a different way. Of course, he got through a great deal of money so he was very popular with the press, but in the end the trustees put a stop to it. I just know that he ran out of money.” That night, they all celebrated at Hesketh’s London home in Eastbourne Terrace and forgot their troubles. Or at least they tried to.

  There were only two drives available to Hunt for the 1976 season. The first was at the Lotus team, and that was far from definite. Like Hesketh, Lotus had suffered in the recession and had no money to pay its drivers. Its main asset was a contract with Ronnie Peterson, arguably the then-fastest driver in the sport. But Peterson’s retainer from Lotus was US$250,000 a year and was more of a liability than an asset as a global recession raged.

  At the end of 1975, team manager Peter Warr had hawked Peterson’s Formula One contract around the Formula One paddock to the highest bidder in order to raise cash. Mario Andretti had been signed for the 1976 season, but Peterson’s future was uncertain. There were no takers for Peterson’s contract and, once he learned what Warr was doing, Peterson became disillusioned with the team. Sensing, but more likely hoping, that Peterson might leave, Warr opened negotiations with Hunt on the basis that he would agree to drive for nothing and be paid for each world championship point he scored. Andretti had already set a precedent by effectively agreeing to drive for nothing on the same basis.

  The only problem was that Warr didn’t much like Hunt, and the disdain was clearly mutual. But this did not stop Warr from inviting Hunt and his brother Peter out for lunch in London on a Sunday afternoon that November. The discussions went on for three hours as Warr tried to persuade Hunt to drive for nothing. Lunch was forgotten and, when Warr got to his feet to shake hands, no meal had been ordered. Warr left the restaurant without even mentioning food. According to Hunt, Warr didn’t buy him lunch on purpose. As he remembered: “We went out to lunch, but didn’t get any. That left me out looking for lunch in London at four o’clock on a Sunday afternoon.” He said of the discussions: “They seemed to be of the opinion that their drivers shouldn’t be paid. I had difficulty talking any sense to them at all.”

  In any case, it soon became apparent that Warr was determined not to have Hunt driving for Lotus and, after whispering in Colin Chapman’s ear, he later signed the young Swedish up-and-comer Gunnar Nilsson. Hunt told people afterwards: “The meeting with Lotus comprehensively wasted three hours of my life.” But Hunt wasn’t a fool and knew he could use Warr’s offer as leverage. He kept the illusion of a Lotus drive alive, even though that is all it was. He needed a negotiating tool to get another drive and a decent retainer with it.

  Hunt’s other offer was from the new, reconstituted Wolf-Williams team, owned by Walter Wolf and Frank Williams. Williams had bought the Hesketh 308C that Hunt had driven in the last three races of 1975. Wolf and Williams were now keen to see Hunt drive their blue and gold re-liveried cars. In fact, when Bubbles Horsley had sold the two 308C cars to the Wolf- Williams team, he had inferred that Hunt was part of the deal. But even Hunt couldn’t oblige Horsley and go along with it. Hunt believed that the Harvey Postlethwaite-designed 308C was a terrible car. Although he had finished in the points in all three races, he knew he had driven hard for little reward. Believing the car was a dog, Hunt would only take the drive with Wolf-Williams as a last resort. Still, the Wolf team was the only one offering him a proper salary to drive.

  Hunt’s only other hope was Bernie Ecclestone, the Brabham team owner. Ecclestone sensed Hunt might be out of a drive and wanted to keep him in the sport. At the time, Ecclestone was just beginning to sell Formula One’s television broadcast rights and he sensed that Hunt would be a vital part of that, especially in Britain. In the end, Ecclestone’s instincts proved right and Hunt emerged as the key to unlocking Formula One’s true television potential.

  Ecclestone put his formidable mind towards getting Hunt a drive. He proposed setting up a Brabham B-team whereby Hunt would drive a last year’s Brabham-Ford car with a Cosworth engine. For 1976, the works Brabhams were contracted to run Alfa Romeo engines with the Italian car maker paying the team’s bills with sponsorship from the Martini & Rossi drinks company. The cars would be driven by South Americans Carlos Pace and Carlos Reutemann. But when Ecclestone asked the Italians for permission to run Hunt in a separate team, they refused point blank. They weren’t about to have their Brabham dream team upstaged by a British playboy driving last year’s car and, in all likelihood, beating them. In the end, even Ecclestone’s genius couldn’t make that deal happen. Hunt realised that Ecclestone had placed himself in a difficult position: “I think Bernie was only doing it as a matter of generosity to me.”

  And that might have been the end for Hunt in Formula One had it not been for John Hogan. Hunt and Hogan were of a similar age and outlook and had kept in touch since 1971 when they first met. Hogan liked Hunt’s view of motor racing as much as Hunt liked Hogan’s take on sponsorship.

  By 1975, Hogan had become head of sponsorship for Philip Morris International, which had been set up to sell Marlboro cigarettes outside of the United States. The Marlboro brand had been established outside North America by its motor racing sponsorship, which had been highly successful and very cost effective. Back then, Marlboro was playing brand catch-up in Europe and was using Formula One to get a toehold. With a budget of US$1 million a year to spend on Formula One, it was the title sponsor of the McLaren Formula One team. Hogan was in charge of making it happen and virtually had carte blanche from his bosses in Lausanne to get the job done.

  Hogan remembers where Formula One was back then: “Emerson was king of the castle, closely followed by Niki.” And the shrewd Hogan had both Emerson Fittipaldi and Niki Lauda signed up to Marlboro; Fittipaldi via the McLaren team and Lauda with a substantial personal contract said to be worth US$75,000 a year in itself. If Hogan couldn’t put his Marlboro logos on the Ferrari then the next best thing was plastering them all over Lauda’s race overalls and helmet, which he did.

  But despite that, there was, and had been for months, doubt about how committed Emerson Fittipaldi was to the McLaren team for 1976. On paper, he was fully committed and had signed a contract for the 1976 season worth US$250,000 a year – along with Peterson’s, it was the biggest salary in Formula One.

  Aware of the contract, Hogan and McLaren team principal, Teddy Mayer, were certain that Fittipaldi would honour it. They were totally relaxed that Fittipaldi would drive. But Fittipaldi had three contracts with the team: one with McLaren; one with title sponsor, Marlboro; and another with the Texaco oil company, the secondary sponsor. Later it emerged that not all the contracts had been signed, making none of them enforceable. Still, there were enough signatures to stop him driving for anyone else as long as Marlboro paid him the US$250,000. But in reality, the last thing anyone wanted was an unhappy, highly-paid driver on their books.

  Hogan openly admits he did not see Fittipaldi’s defection coming and he is still not entirely certain whether Fittipaldi had signed the contract with Marlboro to drive for McLaren with true intent to do so. Certainly, as far as both Hogan and Teddy Mayer were concerned, signing one contract surely meant that he would honour the others as well. But Fittipaldi didn’t see it that way. He believed his options were still open and was secretly negotiating with his brother Wilson and Brazilian sugar refiner Copersucar to drive for the Fittipaldi family Formula One team. The team had been founded the previous year by Wilson Fittipaldi. Hogan describes the contract confusion thus: “Emerson had signed, but not with the ferocity that modern drivers sign contracts. But Teddy was convinced, we were convinced he was going to drive.” It hadn’t even entered their m
inds that he wouldn’t.

  That Saturday night, the 22nd of November, Mayer was at home in Surrey when he got a call from Fittipaldi, who was in São Paulo, telling him he had just signed a contract with his brother Wilson to drive the Copersucar car in 1976. He would therefore not be driving a McLaren in 1976. He explained to Mayer that it had been his dream to drive for a Brazilian team with his name on the car.

  Mayer listened, scarcely believing what he was hearing. When Fittipaldi had finished, he told him bluntly that he had a contract to drive the Marlboro McLaren and that he would sue him if he didn’t. Fittipaldi politely pointed out that he had not signed his McLaren contract and was sure Marlboro would release him from its contract once they knew that. Fittipaldi had it all worked out. Mayer reflected later: “I can only say he has sold out for a bag of gold.”

  It later emerged that Fittipaldi had been offered US$1 million a year to drive for Copersucar. The deal was underwritten entirely by the Brazilian sugar refiner. It was a total all-in promotional contract that tied Fittipaldi to the sponsor in a way that no driver had ever before been. It would mean a huge promotional commitment. But US$1 million was four times what he would have earned at McLaren and he simply couldn’t turn it down. The full details of the deal were revealed in an article in The Sunday Times newspaper by Keith Botsford, a legendary sports journalist of the 1970s.

  The realisation that there was no valid driving contract to enforce hit Mayer like a thunderbolt, and he quickly ended the conversation with Fittipaldi. Mayer was a brusque American, totally devoid of emotion and not one to dwell on the past. But he realised that Fittipaldi’s defection was a huge loss. In his two seasons with McLaren, Fittipaldi had finished first and second in the Formula One world championship. Mayer’s mind was whirring as he picked up the phone to Hogan. Hogan paid the team’s bills and he needed to know the news.

  It was a cold night and Hogan was at home with his wife, Anne, in Reading, Berkshire. Mayer didn’t waste time talking about Fittipaldi. Hogan recalls: “Teddy rang me up and just said: ‘We need to find a driver.’” As far as Mayer was concerned, it was Hogan’s problem. Mayer had already signed Jochen Mass. Mass, a German, had won his first Grand Prix in 1975 in Spain, and Mayer believed he would be an adequate replacement for Fittipaldi in 1976. But Hogan, a far more astute judge of drivers than Mayer, sensed that he would not. Whilst Mayer thought the search would be for a good number two to Mass, Hogan knew he must find a star, a proper number one. In an ideal world, his first choice would have been to lure three-time world champion, the then 37-year-old Jackie Stewart out of retirement, but Hogan knew that wasn’t going to happen. Stewart was one of the few drivers who fully understood why he had retired and he wasn’t going to reverse his decision despite how many hundreds of thousands of dollars Marlboro threw on the table. Hogan admits, as much as he may have liked it: “I couldn’t see Jackie sitting in the cockpit.”

  Instead, as Hogan recalls: “I knew who to get instantly – James. But I knew I had to make it look good because Marlboro and McLaren would have been just as happy with Jackie Ickx. In fact, Belgian veteran Jackie Ickx was immediately the bookies’ favourite to get the drive. Well past his peak and on the slide, the 30-year-old Ickx was on the market again after leaving the Lotus team at the end of 1975. Ickx had been a star of Formula One since 1968 and made his name when he had seen off teammate Jack Brabham and given Jackie Stewart the only serious competition in the 1969 world championship. But after a few years with Ferrari, he had quickly faded and was by then a has-been.

  But not to everyone. It is a little known truism that most people involved in Formula One have little clue about drivers and, even though Ickx’s performance in 1975 driving for Lotus had been lamentable – finishing 16th in the world championship – he had finished second at the Spanish Grand Prix and that is what stuck in many people’s minds; especially in the minds of people in Colnbrook and Lausanne, who loved the charming Belgian. But Hogan was not charmed by Ickx and, although he was realistic enough to know that it was the most likely outcome of Fittipaldi’s defection, he was determined that Ickx not get the drive. He remembers: “I liked Jackie a lot. He was a great, great driver, but he was past his peak. But there was really nobody else around.”

  Nobody, that is, except James Hunt.

  Hogan had always been very focused, and now all his focus was on Hunt. He instinctively knew there wasn’t a moment to lose. In his mind, he could already envisage Ickx on a plane to Lausanne to sign a deal with Philip Morris’ vice president of marketing, Pat Duffler. That terrible thought drove him on.

  In the era before the cell phone made everybody instantly contactable, Hogan had no idea where Hunt was that cold Saturday night in November. First, he called his home in Marbella and found it full of hangers-on and flunkies, enjoying life at Hunt’s expense. As he recalls: “I managed to get an answer from his house in Spain and speak to whoever was the phone answerer.” That ‘answerer’ was inevitably high on a combination of cannabis and alcohol. Hogan says: “The house was always full of itinerants.” One of them told Hogan: “We think he’s in London.” So Hogan got on the phone and tracked Hunt to Lord Hesketh’s house in London. Hogan recounts how the conversation went: “So I said: ‘Listen...’, and [Hunt] said: ‘Been expecting a call from you’. So I replied: ‘I’m going to come see you now.’”

  Hunt thought Hogan was joking, but Hogan jumped into his Ford Escort and drove from Reading to London at high speed. He remembers: “When I got there, he opened the front door. James was what I call ‘in full Beatles mode.’”

  As it happened, Hunt already knew Fittipaldi was leaving McLaren. Domingos Piedale, a very well-known figure in racing and then Fittipaldi’s manager, had tipped him off on Thursday 20th November, three days earlier. Piedale told him simply that Fittipaldi would not drive for McLaren in 1976, although he was careful not to tell him who Fittipaldi would be driving for.

  Hunt couldn’t do anything with the information. He couldn’t even speak to his friend Hogan. He knew that any enthusiasm to have the drive would compromise his negotiating position. He had already experienced Lotus trying to get him to drive for nothing, and even the great Ronnie Peterson was having trouble hanging on to his salary. The viciousness of the recession meant that drivers out of contract were in poor negotiating positions. But Hunt was very grateful to Piedale and Fittipaldi at the time: “This fine gesture by Emerson, from a business point of view, gave me warning – time to get myself ready.” He added: “I knew that if Emerson didn’t sign, I was going to McLaren. And I had known that since the beginning of September.”

  In his book, Against All Odds, published in 1977 to celebrate his world championship, Hunt recalls that he was confident he would be chosen to replace Fittipaldi and that he had stayed in London on Monday 15th November and cancelled his return flight to Marbella in order to await the call he knew would come.

  But that simply wasn’t the case. Without Hogan lobbying for him, he had little chance of getting it. Ickx had been the favoured candidate. In fact, the attitude internally at McLaren at that time was: “Anybody but Hunt.” Fortunately for Hunt, Hogan’s attitude was the reverse. It was “Anybody but Ickx”, and Hogan was signing the cheques.

  When Hogan arrived at Hesketh’s house an hour and a half later, Hunt was the worse for wear and had been smoking cannabis in the company of a girl Hogan hadn’t met before, called Jane Birbeck. Hunt seemed out of it and unaware of the urgency of Hogan’s mission, and even less cognisant of the fact that his entire future was on the line.

  At that point, as far as anyone was aware, Hunt was still happily married to Suzy Miller. In reality, the marriage was all but over and Suzy had left Spain effectively to move back in with her parents.

  Hunt was behaving petulantly and refused to talk to Hogan alone, insisting he had no secrets from Birbeck even though the two hardly knew each other at that stage. On any other day, Hogan might have turned tail and left Hunt to it, but not this day. Hogan knew what
had to be done – for everyone’s sake.

  As uncomfortable as he felt and left with no choice, Hogan laid out the deal in front of Birbeck. Hogan knew that if the details of a deal got out, Hunt’s chances of the McLaren drive would be stone dead. But still, Hunt insisted that Birbeck remain present – correctly assuming that there was no risk of a kiss-and-tell in next week’s News of the World newspaper.

  Initially, Hunt feigned that he didn’t want to talk about McLaren and tried to convince Hogan that he was about to sign a contract with Lotus. But Hogan knew better. He recalls: “He tried to convince me that he had a Lotus offer on the table, but I knew he couldn’t stand Peter Warr, so I knew that wasn’t going to happen.”

  Ignoring Hunt’s hyperboles and antics, Hogan spelled out what was on offer: three contracts with Philip Morris, McLaren and Texaco, and a retainer of US$50,000 a year. Hunt knew vaguely what Fittipaldi was earning and told Hogan that his offer was laughable. But Hogan was deadly serious.

  Even though he had been paying Fittipaldi five times that, Hogan wasn’t one to throw his employers’ money around unnecessarily. Hogan simply reiterated that the retainer was US$50,000 plus some success bonuses, prize money from the team and extra fees for personal appearances outside of race weekends. And that, he said, was that, take it or leave it – knowing all the while that Hunt could not afford to leave it. Hogan says now: “It was very low on the money; I pushed him down to as low as I thought he would go. We realised he didn’t have an option. We played it cool.”